Page 171 of The Backup Plan

“Morning all,” I say, my voice steady even though my heart is splintering. “Before this goes any further—I’d like to say something.”

The room stills.

I glance at Emery once more. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to stop me.

I don’t let her.

“I appreciate the opportunity this organization gave me,” I continue. “The second chance. The trust. The belief.” I swallow over what feels like broken glass. “It’s been a hell of a run. A career I’m proud of. A career my body will no longer allow me to play. And due to that, I will be medically retiring.” The words feel foreign. Heavy. Final. “And truth be told, that’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to say. To tell you I’m walking away from a game that I love with everything I have, that has given me a life I never imagined . . . but it’s not fair to you or the team to not deliver on all the promises I made you. I’m sorry for that.” My voice breaks but it’s got nothing on my heart.

My words are met with a resigned silence—the kind where we all knew this was coming, but it’s more fucking brutal hearing it.

I’m gutted in a way I’ve never known or comprehended before.

Coach stands first. He rounds the table and grips my good shoulder carefully. “Hell of a career, son.”

Grant follows. Then Peter. Then the PT staff.

Each one says something kind. Something earned. Something that makes my chest swell.

I keep my gaze down as I blink away tears.

I expect the room to clear. For each of them to walk out and go on about their day, but when my eyes stop blurring, I notice that no one has left.

Grant clears his throat to get my attention, so I look up and meet his eyes.

“We understand your decision,” he says, as if I have a choice whether I can play again. But I appreciate him letting me feel like it was a choice. “And we respect it.” He pauses. “But that’s not the end of this conversation.”

My head startles. “What?”

He leans forward, hands clasped. “Your value is more than just your physical ability to play, Lucas. The coaching staff has been talking, and we agree that you’re too goddamn good at this sport to walk away from it completely.”

My pulse stutters. “My shoulder’s shot. While I appreciate your praise, it’s not going to—”

“We’d like you to stay with the organization,” Coach adds. “You have incredible insight and ability to read the field. We realize this might not be what you want, but . . .”

“We’d like to offer you a position as an assistant offensive coordinator.” Grant smiles.

The room tilts.

“That’s—” I shake my head. “That’s not—”

“Not player money,” Coach cuts in. “Not even close.” That most definitely was not what I was going to say in my stunned disbelief. “But this opportunity keeps you in this game you know and love. And it matters.”

“You’ve proven yourself time and again,” Peter says. “Your reads. Your instincts. That doesn’t disappear just because your shoulder gave out.”

“Plus, the guys listen to you,” Grant adds. “They respect you.” He sighs dramatically. “Even Cole Valor.”

Chuckles come from all those in the room.

“And Doc here says your shoulder can handle that,” Coach jokes with a grin.

The whole room laughs again.

My chest burns.

They want me to stay on.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to go.